


Roots Around My Ribcage

by peanutbutterapple



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Adam being warm and soft, Fluff, M/M, Post-The Raven King, Ronan being warm and soft, Ronan grows his hair out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 11:56:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9606593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peanutbutterapple/pseuds/peanutbutterapple
Summary: Adam lets his roots take hold. Ronan lets his hair grow.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I basically wrote this because I wanted to write Ronan being soft and having curly hair. Also, for some self-indulgent Adam and Opal, because I love them almost as much as Ronan does. Almost. 
> 
> Also, does it snow as much as I made it snow in Virginia? Uh.

A colorful stream of swear words preceded Ronan’s entrance into the Barnes.

Adam sat at the old kitchen table, a neat pile of textbooks sat stacked beside him. One lay open in front of him on the worn surface, a wooden map of scratches beneath his fingertips. A thin blanket was wrapped around his shoulders where Ronan had draped it earlier, before he’d gone to venture into the snow with Opal. The scene outside the window was a white blur. Chainsaw, “the world’s most wimpy-assed bird,” as Ronan had called her for refusing to go out into the snow, sat perched on Adam’s pile of books, head ducked beneath her wing, asleep.

She jolted awake from the sound of Ronan’s voice and the frenzy of hooved stomping sounding loudly from down the hall. Adam looked up just as Opal blew in, melting flecks of white dotting her hat and caught in her short hair.

She stopped just short of barreling into him, and stuck a tiny fist out. “ _Hoc tuum est_.”

Adam held his own hand out, and she dropped a plum into his palm, half frozen and shriveled brown, leftover from months and months before.

“I told you, brat, he’s not going to want that,” Ronan said, stomping in as loudly as one could with socked feet just as Adam’s fingers curled around the gnarled plum. Chainsaw flocked to his shoulder, eyeing it disdainfully.

Ronan opened the fridge and grabbed some water and sucked it down, cheeks and nose pink from the cold. “And she gets no dinner because she ate five of those things, and the twigs she found with them.”

Opal made a grotesque face at him. Her hair was beginning to drip onto her shoulders. Adam pulled off the wool hat Ronan had replaced her skull cap with and used the edge of his blanket to dry off her head.

“I like it,” he said. Ronan made a grotesque face at him.

Once Opal was sufficiently dry and her blonde hair was a tangle atop her head, she kissed the back of his hand and then stared at him with her wide, clear eyes. He handed the dead plum back to her. She ate it in two bites, dead skin peeking out between her teeth.

“And that means no dessert!” Ronan shouted after her as she fled from the kitchen, leaving a puddle and a mess of hooved footprints behind her. Chainsaw streaked after her.

“Your disciplinary methods might be more affective if the world was not her literal dinner plate,” Adam said, standing up from the kitchen chair. He stretched; he hadn’t realized how long he’d been doing homework.

Ronan crossed his arms and walked over to him. “It’s not like they sell books on how to raise children who probably don’t have internal organs, Parrish.”

“And if they did, it’s not like you’d read it.”

Ronan’s grin was sharp.

Tiny beads of water where snowflakes had melted on Ronan’s head clung to his hair, and Adam lifted the edge of his blanket again to dry it off. He let his thumb drag over the top of his head; Ronan had just buzzed it that morning, and it was short enough that it was almost soft.

Ronan’s eyes were bright and staring, and when Adam leaned in to kiss him he found his lips were surprisingly warm. His nose, however, was still chilly when Adam bumped it with his own.

Adam still held the blanket against the back of Ronan’s skull, draped half around them against the chill of the kitchen. Ronan’s fingers were cold when they slid beneath the hem of Adam’s shirt, ghosting his warm skin. Adam shivered.

“Cold, Parrish?” Ronan said against his lips. Adam could feel his smile, as sharp as ever.

“Maybe,” Adam said, voice low. “Perhaps it would be smart to find a place that has more blankets.”

Ronan kissed the side of his mouth. “Sounds cozy.”

Adam pinched his side, and Ronan’s laugh was as bright as his eyes when Adam grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him toward the staircase leading up to Ronan’s room.

 

*

 

Adam clung to the grab handle above the passenger side door for dear life.

Ronan whooped and hollered victoriously as he spun the wheel sharply and the BMW spun out beneath them over the icy pavement. Adam squeezed his eyes shut as they swung dangerously close to the trees.

“Fuck, Ronan!”

Ronan cackled with delight, loud and sharp and alive.

Adam opened his eyes as he felt them begin to slow, head spinning and heart pounding with adrenaline. He let his head fall back against his seat, grip slacking on the grab handle. “Shit,” he said, more softly.

Ronan had picked him up from school that day, and rather than driving them back to the Barnes for a peaceful afternoon uninterrupted by one of Adam’s three jobs like Adam had expected him to, he’d said, “I have something to show you,” and drove them off in the complete opposite direction.

“Is this where you’ve finally decided to kill me?” Adam had asked, voice flat, when Ronan pulled into a giant, empty parking lot beside a factory building reminiscent to Monmouth Manufacturing, only larger, older, and more dilapidated. It felt forlorn and eerie beneath the low hanging gray sky, quiet and disconnected from any main roads. The parking lot was blanketed with an untouched layer of thin snow and ice leftover from the unusually frigid January. 

“There are many things I could get away with without anyone finding us here,” Ronan said, turning a sly on eye on him.

Adam raised a pale eyebrow.

Ronan’s face transformed into a grin of the dangerous kind, one that reminded Adam of the days before Glendower, before the Barnes, before they’d met Blue. A spike of anticipation shot through him just as Ronan thrust the car into gear and slammed his foot on the accelerator.

Now, the parking lot was streaked with tire tracks, a mess of straight lines and curved shapes and imprints where Ronan had slammed on the breaks and spun them into dizzying spirals. It looked like a wall a toddler had taken a marker to and scribbled unrestrained.

Ronan was breathing heavily, his smile just as dangerous as before, if not more. “You’re so sexy when you swear,” he said, sliding his eyes to look at Adam.

“You’re a fucking menace,” Adam said, but didn’t miss the slick peel of heat that gathered in his stomach at Ronan’s words, as Ronan looked at him, eyes so alight Adam could practically feel Ronan’s own blood pounding through his veins.

It was a relief when Ronan leaned across the seat – not bothering to unbuckle his seatbelt because he hadn’t bothered to buckle it in the first place – and crushed his lips against Adam’s, mouth warm and soft and wet.

Adam kissed him back, bringing a hand to the back of Ronan’s neck to pull him closer. His fingers pushed the back of his head, through hair that was unusually thick but still abrasive against his fingers. It made him appear darker, messier, enhanced by the chaos they’d made of the parking lot and the black interior of the BMW. Adam kissed him again, harder.

“Fuck,” Ronan finally said, emphatic and breathing deeply as he pulled away, cheeks flushed. Adam couldn’t disagree with that.

Adam thought he was going to kiss him again, but without warning Ronan reached for the gearshift and hit the gas, spinning Adam out of his skin.

 

*

 

When Adam stepped out of his car into the mild air that came with early spring, he expected to find the peaceful, pleasant quiet that always greeted him when he arrived at the Barnes.

Instead, he heard music.

It was faint, coming from the direction of the shed that held the chicken coop, and not entirely _un_ peaceful. It was pleasant in the way that was opposite of silence, as if, if the Barnes _did_ have sound, if the atmosphere of the place could be translated into notes and vibrations, this would be it. It was warm, spirited, golden and mossy green, like a smile was playing behind the sound, like it wouldn’t take effort to dance to.

It was entirely Ronan, in the way that the senseless, offensive, loud, and completely horrendous music he played in the BMW was also entirely Ronan.

When Adam slipped out of the pale afternoon light and into the chicken shed, Chainsaw flocked to his shoulder. Adam ran a finger down her feathers as his eyes fell on Ronan lying in the corner beside the coop, unashamedly sprawled in the hay and dirt. Beside him there lay a tiny, wooden box, not unlike one that might hold a watch or a necklace or a ring.

Ronan’s eyes were closed, but they opened slowly when he heard Adam’s gentle footprints approach. He didn’t sit up.

“Parrish,” he said.

“I thought St. Patrick’s Day was next week,” Adam said, standing beside him. Flecks of hay were caught in Ronan’s dark hair, just beginning to curl over his forehead and around his ears.

“Didn’t know I had to wait,” Ronan said, closing his eyes again. “Do I have to wait till Christmas to worship Jesus, too?”

Adam rolled his eyes. He sighed, because it was apparent Ronan wasn’t going to move, and then lowered himself beside him into the mess of hay. Chainsaw took off into the rafters.

“Too much dirt for Your Royal Highness?” Ronan said, eyes still closed, as if he could hear Adam’s thoughts.

“Fuck off, Lynch.”

Ronan stretched indolently.

The music hadn’t stopped. It played on beside Ronan, clear and rich as any million-dollar sound system one could find at the store.

“Dream thing?” Adam asked.

Ronan didn’t have to open his eyes to know Adam was asking about the tiny box. “Mm.”

Adam felt himself sliding into the sound again, like a wave of warmth and light taking him to sea. After a moment, he gave in and let himself stretch out on his back beside Ronan. When he looked over, Ronan’s eyes were still closed, but his lips were quirked, like he’d lured Adam into some kind of trap.

Adam thought of making some sort of snarky comment, but instead settled for just looking at Ronan as the music floating around them. It nestled against his limbs and filled him with a gentle lightness, a vibrancy that was welcome after a long day of school and before a longer night of work. Ronan’s face was entirely relaxed, eyelashes fanning prettily over the smooth skin above his cheeks. Adam thought of perhaps saying, “It’s nice,” but instead he stretched out a hand and softly brushed away some of the dust and hay that had settled in Ronan’s hair. It was getting softer beneath his fingertips.

If there had been any tension left, hiding somewhere behind Ronan’s closed eyelids, locked deep inside his chest, wrapped in the spaces between his fingers or even intertwined with the laces of his boots, it seeped out at Adam’s touch. Adam didn’t quite know how he could feel it, but he could. If someone had told him a year ago he’d become this attuned to Ronan Lynch, to a _nyone_ , he’d have laughed in their face, and not kindly.

Ronan leaned into his touch, just slightly. Adam let the short locks of Ronan’s hair curl over his fingers. He shut his own eyes, but didn’t pull his hand away.

 

*

 

It wasn’t entirely necessary for Ronan to maintain his room at Monmouth Manufacturing now that he’d taken up official residence at the Barnes.

Then again, the word “maintain” was perhaps a bit too strong. To maintain would imply that Ronan actually provided any upkeep. Sometimes, Ronan still stayed there. Most of the time, it sat empty. And now that Gansey would be leaving for his Great American Road Trip with Blue and Henry, what else would Ronan have to return to there?

Adam liked to think his eyes may have caught on a shape by the doorway of the second, empty room, its door eternally closed these days, but when he blinked and adjusted his eyes, he decided it must have been a trick of the light. Summer was approaching and the warm air made things feel fuzzy.

Adam jumped as something crashed onto the floor outside Ronan’s doorway, which meant Ronan must have begun cleaning. Adam walked over as a keyboard flew through the air. Peering into the room, Adam observed that Ronan was hauling objects out his room not unlike the way he shoveled cow shit out of the Barnes.

Behind him stood Opal, wearing a sleeveless green dress Blue had made her for the warmer weather, gnawing on the handle of a tennis racquet, Chainsaw perched on her shoulder. Ronan had said on the way over that it might be a good idea to bring a living compost bin with them.

Between a lamp with no shade nor bulb and a set of expensive stereo speakers that Adam would once have been outraged to see tossed with the intention of destruction, Adam slipped into the room. He walked to the far side of the room, by Opal and Chainsaw, and surveyed the space around Ronan’s bed. He decided to start by sorting a pile of Ronan’s old Aglionby textbooks sticking out from beneath the bed.  

“Sure, no problem, Parrish, I’ll take care of all the heavy lifting,” Ronan said, pushing his hair off his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand as Adam neatly placed a book atop his pile.

“You said we’d be cleaning,” Adam said, reaching his hand deeper beneath the bed, “not training for a shot-put competition.”

“Basically the same thing,” Ronan said. He picked up an old rumpled pair of black jeans and hurled them out of the room. They hit the opposite wall and dropped to the floor.

Adam reached farther beneath the bed, searching for any other long forgotten school books. Instead, his fingers hit upon something different. 

He pulled the objects out into the light. An alarm clock with letters instead of numbers, a glove with seven fingers, four little car tires about the size of his palm, but no car.

Apparently Adam’s treasure hunting proved more interesting than her tennis racquet, because Opal was suddenly at Adam’s side, prodding at the little tires in his hand. Then, she disappeared beneath the bed with far more ease and grace than Adam had possessed a moment before.  

She began to push out what was left beneath the depths of Ronan’s bed: earphones made for someone with three ears, a baseball cap that looked just big enough to fit Chainsaw, old black muscle tees, a bundle of pink flowers that looked and felt as if they’d been freshly picked, EpiPens, dirty mismatched socks, a slightly dated iPod that didn’t require a battery charge, a bundle of pine cones that jangled like bells, uncompleted homework, an instrument that looked like a miniature flute but sounded like an electric guitar when Opal blew into it.

Finally, she crawled out beneath the bed, dust on her dress and in her hair, holding a slim tube in her tiny fist. She held it out to Adam. “ _Haec tuum est.”_

Adam took it. It was a plain, white tube, with no words or any sort of markings on it. It looked like one that might hold lotion, and he thought of the kind that Ronan dreamt him in the winter for his hands.

“ _Manibus?”_ he asked, lifting his eyes back up to hers. Opal shook her head. When he took the cap off, a very thin, nearly liquid blue cream spilled out. It was scentless.

Adam heard a sigh. He looked up to find Ronan looming over him.

Ronan sat down beside him, arm to arm, crossing his legs in front of him and gently taking the bottle from Adam’s hands. He squeezed out some of the liquid into his right hand and held out his left arm.

It wasn’t hard to locate a bruise, considering all the manual labor Ronan did at the Barnes even if he didn’t go getting into fights anymore. Silently, he rubbed some of the cream onto it.

At first, Adam didn’t quite understand what he was supposed to be seeing. Then, slowly, he realized the bruise was fading.

A moment later it was gone, Ronan’s skin pale and unblemished as ever.

Adam’s breath caught in his throat.

Ronan located a cut on his elbow. That, too, healed seamlessly within seconds. He capped the tube and held it in his lap.

The tube was dusty, long lost beneath his bed, and there would have been no reason for Ronan to dream this after Adam had moved into St. Agnes.

Adam could have made a joke about how it couldn’t have been entirely useless to Ronan, fighter of fights, but Adam’s chest felt heavy; it didn’t feel right. That wasn’t this dream thing’s purpose, even if born at a time Ronan couldn’t control what he dreamed.

Adam didn’t know what to say. Ronan looked at Opal several feet away, plucking the strings out of the forgotten tennis racquet. “Here, brat,” he said, tossing it to her. “You’re always getting scraped up in the woods. Don’t eat it.”

That’s what it always should have been for, Adam thought, watching her. Adventurous accidents. Injuries of the innocent sort, the curious, the playful, and the daring. The kinds of scrapes kids liked to show off to each other, the kind they wanted to turn into badass scars. The kind parents fret over, sighed over and stuck band aids on as they told them “this is no one’s fault but your own” and it _was._  

Opal blinked at it and stuck a racquet wire in her mouth. 

Adam closed his eyes and pressed his forehead into Ronan’s shoulder. He absorbed the warmth, the slight stickiness of his skin, the solidity of bone and muscle. He felt Ronan’s hand on his back, and then he felt the press of Ronan’s chin to the top of his head.

It took a few moments for Adam to sit up again. Ronan’s hand stayed where it was on his back, and Adam felt more like himself as he met Ronan’s blue eyes. They were light against his pale skin and deeper in contrast with his dark hair, his formerly bristled buzz now a heap of short, thickening curls atop his head. Adam lifted a hand up and made them messier, gently, easily. His hand slid to cup the back of Ronan’s head, fingers buried in the sweat dampened curls, and then he pressed his forehead against Ronan’s.

“Sweaty,” Adam said after a moment.

“Shithead,” Ronan said, pulling away. It sounded fond.

A moment later they heard the door of the main room open, and then Gansey’s voice, puzzled. “Ronan? What is all this?”

Ronan sighed and got to his feet, holding out a hand to pull Adam up with him.

“You live with a slob, Gansey,” came Blue’s voice. “What _is_ this?”

“Fucking trash pickers,” Ronan muttered, and Adam laughed. Ronan’s eyes gleamed, unexpectedly pleased by this, and he pressed his lips to Adam’s knuckles. Then he turned and walked out of the room with a, “The fuck, Sargent? I don’t walk into your house complaining that everything’s from a shitty craft store.”

 

*

 

The firework burst into a million colors in the darkness, illuminating the ragged edges of the trees and the smooth limbs of their bodies.

They were made of colors Adam hadn’t even seen before, blooming like flowers and bursting into stars. Blue emitted a long “Oooooh!”, Gansey laughed with an incredulity that he never seemed to lose and Henry let out a triumphant “HA!”

Adam couldn’t see Opal’s face because she sat perched on his shoulders, but he could feel her giggles and her hands petting his hair and her delighted yells of _“Lux! Lux!”_ in his ears.

_Light, light._

Adam’s eyes slid to Ronan, who watched his fireworks with a sharp, close mouthed smile, concentrated and fierce. They gleamed in his eyes and reflected off of the bare skin of his shoulders, upright and assertive, Chainsaw perched regally.

His eyes met Adam’s and his smile grew sharper. He walked over and placed a slender firework in his hand, fingers on skin.

“Hey!” Ronan yelled across to the other three. “Watch yourself, Cheng! Parrish has terrible aim and I’m not dreaming you a new ass.”

Adam scowled at Ronan as Henry took a large step backward. Adam knew as well as Ronan that these fireworks wouldn’t harm a fly. Adam had nearly had a heart attack earlier when he’d found Opal sitting in the grass gnawing on one. 

“You think I’d dream actual explosives when I have a child here that eats literally everything?” Ronan said when Adam had expressed alarm.

“Yes,” Adam had said without hesitation.

Ronan, for his part, didn’t look particularly offended. “Well, even if they were dangerous, they’d be useless without a match.”

“Throw it!” Opal shouted from overhead, pushing her hands threw Adam’s hair persistently.

These fireworks didn’t require fire, they didn’t require a launch, just someone to throw them. Adam tossed it high.

It hung there for a moment, as if in slow motion – a trick of the mind or by dream design, Adam wasn’t sure – before it dissolved into a shower of light. It was a quiet firework, there was no explosive _boom_ , merely a pitter patter like rain as the little droplets of light, tiny and white and not entirely unlike Ronan’s fireflies, fell around them. They even _smelled_ like rain, damp and grassy in the already humid summer night.

“Ooooooh,” Blue, Gansey, and Henry said in unison. The light began to collect in Blue’s spikey hair, making her look like some sort of angelic dream fairy. Gansey plucked one out and blew it back at her like a kiss. Henry held his hands cupped in front of him, watching them pile in his palms, his face glowing and amazed. Something about it made Adam’s chest tighten, and he had a fleeting image of a boy who once loved glitter.

Opal was laughing above him, the sound sweet and free in Adam’s ear, and it filled Adam with a different kind of ache, a lighter, breathable one he couldn’t quite explain but didn’t want to lose. When Adam looked over, Ronan was already gazing back at him.

It was one of those moments where he looked like a dream himself, a shadow surrounded by moving streaks of light. His eyes were open and reflective, hair curling around his ears, his black tank and ripped shorts blotted with grass stains.

The ache turned softer, brighter, breathable and solid. It spread from Adam’s chest to every part of his body, illuminating his veins and mollifying his thoughts. It terrified Adam and it anchored him.

Ronan’s hand was warm when it slid into Adam’s. His breath tickled his ear when he spoke.

“Happy birthday, Parrish.”

He passed a firework up to Opal, a star shaped one. Gansey whooped as she threw it surprisingly high in the air for a girl with such small arms. Or perhaps it wasn’t surprising at all.

The firework transformed into something like a comet, flying upward in a spiral of sparks and disappearing into the sky. Chainsaw flew after it, cawing. Opal howled. Ronan tossed three more fireworks to Blue, Gansey, and Henry. Henry, in particular, looked delighted.

The three of them looked at each other, and in some silent agreement tossed them into the air at once. Theirs erupted loudly, fluorescently, wildly in blues and yellows and mint greens. Their yells and their guffaws and hollering were exultant, and a _fullness_ settled over Adam, filling him like a balloon.

Ronan threw another, and Adam laughed at the sky.

 

*

 

When Adam got to the Barnes that evening, he realized just how early the sky was beginning to grow dark now. Earlier that summer, they’d still have a few hours of daylight left before the stars came out.

It was quiet when he let himself inside. Adam shucked his shoes off next to a pair of sneakers that no one ever seemed to wear, but had the ends of its laces chewed off.

There was no one in the kitchen or the living room. Ronan’s BMW was outside, but neither he nor Opal were anywhere to be seen in the fields. Usually, at this hour, they might have been preparing dinner, or Ronan would have lost track of time working on some broken fence or dreaming. Adam silently checked each location off in his mind as he walked upstairs. If they weren’t up here, he’d check the animal sheds.

It was just as quiet on the second floor, and it made the creaking of floorboards beneath Adam’s feet unnaturally loud. Declan’s room was empty, and so was Matthew’s, where Opal liked to sleep. It was scattered with toys adorned in bite marks and objects that should probably have been kept outside, in the woods or a tool shed.  

The door to Ronan’s room was ajar, and when Adam pushed it open, his worry and confusion melted away at the sight of Ronan, fast asleep beneath an old blanket, relaxed in a way that Adam knew meant he had not laid down with the intention of dreaming. Opal lay at the end of the bed at Ronan’s feet, curled up like a cat. They were quiet sleepers, and it was only because the Barnes were so silent that Adam could hear their soft, slow breathing.

He backed out quietly and shut the door. Ronan was never an easy sleeper and Adam had no reason to wake him. Instead, he went to the bathroom, stripped out of his work clothes and took a shower. He put on a soft t-shirt of Ronan’s that was roomy around the shoulders and some pajama pants. Then he padded barefoot down the stairs to see what he could scrounge up for dinner.

Adam was just putting a pot of water on the stove for some macaroni and cheese from a box when he felt something tug at his side. It was Opal, her small fist wrapped around the hem of his shirt. How she could be so silent with those hooves sometimes, Adam had yet to figure out.

“Hey there,” he said. He patted the top of her skull capped head. She was wearing one of Ronan’s black muscle tees; it fell just past her knees. Adam’s old watch was ever present on her wrist, chewed and bitten and frayed. She took his hand and pressed her cheek to the back of his palm, rubbing her soft skin against his. She sighed through her nose and closed her eyes.

Adam watched her for a moment. Opal was very often affectionate, but there was something…different, about this moment. She was not always the happiest creature, but there was a strange air of melancholy about her. Adam crouched down to be eye level with her.

“Hey,” he said again, softer. She opened her eyes. They were the largest, clearest eyes Adam had ever seen, and Adam had a sense that she saw things differently than a normal child might.

Opal pulled back from his hand, then kissed it. “ _Kerah_ ,” she said softly.

Adam frowned. “Is something wrong with him?”

Opal simply blinked at him, and let go of his hand. Adam nodded and stood up. “Don’t eat the pasta, I’m going to cook that,” he told her, and then headed for the stairs.

Ronan was awake when Adam pushed the door open, sitting up against the wiry old headboard on his bed. He met Adam’s eyes. He was rolling something between his hands.

“Hey,” Adam said quietly, just like with Opal.

“Hey.” Ronan’s voice was gravely and his eyes were puffy from sleep. His hair was sticking up in all directions. It made him look young.

Adam sat on the side of the bed, then put a hand to Ronan’s forehead and pushed his hand back through his curly hair. Ronan closed his eyes and leaned into it. He was warm and sleep-soft.  Without any displeasure in his voice, he asked, “What are you doing?”

Adam didn’t pull his hand away, but settled it on Ronan’s warm cheek, fingers brushing the soft hair that curled from behind Ronan’s ears. “Opal was acting odd.”

Ronan didn’t say anything and he didn’t move away, but his eyes slid to his hands. He uncurled his fingers. He was holding a newly dreamed wristband, much like the ones he already wore. Some were older than others, chewed-on and frayed. Adam had never seen him remove them.

Ronan handed the new one to Adam, the leather a smooth, gleaming brown. At first glance, it hardly looked different from the others, but upon closer inspection, Adam noticed the etchings.

There were finely detailed leaves engraved in the leather and twisting lines like roots, or vines, snaking around them and connecting them. It was lovely, but Adam didn’t understand the significance of it until he caught the soft scent of gasoline.

When he looked back up, Ronan was watching him. “Ronan,” he said softly.

Immediately Ronan scowled and looked away. Still, he didn’t pull away from Adam’s hand, which had come to rest on the side of his neck.

It wasn’t some grand mystery to be solved, Ronan’s recent behavior. The sleeping at odd hours, his and Opal’s melancholy. Disappearing for long stretches of time; sticking to Adam’s side like they were physically connected.  Adam had known the reason all along and he, too, didn’t quite know how to deal with it.

There was only a week before Adam left for college.

Adam slid up on the bed until he was sitting beside Ronan on the headboard, so close their arms overlapped. He took Ronan’s hand. It was as warm and soft as the rest of him.

“Keep it,” Ronan said. He’d redirected his scowl at their hands.

“I can’t,” Adam said. He let go of Ronan’s hand so he could press the wristband back into it. “It’s yours.”

Ronan’s scowl became complicated. “No.”

“Ronan.”

“Adam.”

Adam stared at it, the leaves, the roots. “You didn’t dream this for me,” he said softly.

Ronan said nothing, but he didn’t close his fingers around it. Sighing, Adam took it back and snatched his wrist instead.

“What is this, the damn prom?” Ronan said, but his voice lacked its usual heat, and he didn’t pull his wrist away. “Should I have dreamed a corsage instead?”

“You,” Adam said, tying it securely among the others, “are a pain in my ass.”

A smile finally flitted across Ronan’s face. When Adam was sure the wristband was knotted as firmly as possible, he lifted Ronan’s wrist to his lips and kissed the skin there. Then he kissed his palm, and the tips of each of his fingers.

Then he kissed Ronan’s lips, because he was beginning to look sad again.

_I’m leaving, I’m leaving, I’m leaving._

It had been a mantra in his head for the vast majority of his life, and it was still true, but until recently it hadn’t held the taste of the boy on his lips, the press of his warmth against Adam’s side, the ever persistent pulse that quickened when their eyes met, when Adam made him laugh, when he heard the sound of Ronan’s voice. There was never supposed to be the feeling of gentle hands attached to that statement.

There was never supposed to be a little girl with skull cap, there was never supposed to be the Barnes, there was never supposed to be very real friends. There was never supposed to be _home._

There was never supposed to be Ronan, warm and sweet and pliant in the circle of Adam’s arms, soft against his lips.

_I will come back. I want to come back._

It’s what Adam put into his kiss, and he knew Ronan heard him when he kissed him back with a softness Adam had not known possible before him.

Ronan pulled way with a shaky breath and buried his face in Adam’s chest.

The Barnes were as quiet as Adam had found them earlier, and the sky had fallen completely dark outside. Ronan’s breath was calming, and Adam pressed his cheek to the top of his head, curls soft and sleep-warm and vaguely sweet as he breathed in, tips of his hair tickling Adam's eyelids. 

He loved Ronan’s hair like this. He’d loved Ronan’s buzzed hair. He loved Ronan every way he was.

He tightened his arms around Ronan, just slightly.

_I’ll miss you, I’ll miss you, I’ll miss you._

Finally, like he was taking off a band aid the slow way, Ronan pulled back.

“It’s too quiet.” He ran a hand through his hair, sticking it up every which way. His eyes were very slightly red, but he didn’t look away from Adam. He paused. “Where’s Opal?”

“She was downstairs,” Adam said. “I left her with some uncooked macaroni.”

“I thought you were supposed to be smart, Parrish,” Ronan said, but he looked amused. “You know how much she loves uncooked macaroni. Too crunchy to resist.”

Adam felt his lips quirk. “I told her not to eat it.”

“And I told her not to eat the laundry detergent,” Ronan said. “At least now we know chemicals won’t kill her.”

Adam laughed, and Ronan did too, and Adam offered him his hand and they slid out of the bed together. Ronan threaded their fingers together as they went downstairs. Adam squeezed them.

_I’ll miss you._

It sounded so much better than _I’m leaving._

He felt the brush of the warm leather of Ronan’s wristbands against his own skin before Ronan let go of his hand to chase after Opal for eating not only the uncooked macaroni, but the powdered cheese as well.

 

*

 

In a way, sitting in a college dorm room, _his_ college dorm room, felt stranger than standing in a magical forest he’d made a magical bargain with.

Adam wasn’t unknowable, but here he knew no one.

 _But I’m here,_ he thought. _I’m here. I’m at college. I’m_ in _college._

He’d made it.

So why could he only think about the way his knuckles fit against Gansey’s when they fist bumped? The way Blue’s hair tickled his chin when she hugged him tight? Even the sound of Henry’s voice when he’d said, _“Don’t work too hard, Sir Parrish, or I’ll send RoboBee after you. You think I’m kidding but I can hear that brain overworking itself from a thousand miles away.”_  The three of them had left over a month ago for their trip, but suddenly Adam missed them with an intensity that threatened to overwhelm him.

He closed his eyes and found all he could see were the red tail lights of a certain black BMW. He sucked in a breath and all he could hear was the sound of Opal saying a low, mournful, “ _Adam_ ,” in voice that reminded him of a kitten he’d once found crying alone outside his double wide when he was very little, and his father had made him leave it outside. He’d fallen asleep to the sound of it, and when he woke up the next morning, it was gone. He never knew what happened to it.

Adam fell back on his perfectly made bed, not yet ever unmade, and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes until he saw stars. He thought of the fireworks Ronan had set off on his birthday.

He took another breath.

Ronan hadn’t left even thirty minutes before. The room was quieter, smaller, _less_ without his presence, without him knocking into things and ripping into Adam’s boxes and making fun of his shower caddy. A fist full of thick curls and stubble burning the skin around his lips _one more time._

Adam wondered when his roommate would get there. He wondered if another body in the room would make him feel better. He feared it might make it worse.

What he _wanted_ was something familiar.

What he _wished_ was that he didn’t care about anything he’d left behind in goddamn Virginia.

His brain felt fuzzy, not at all like himself. Adam sat up.

Since there was nothing left to unpack, maybe he could go and buy his books. He’d saved up just enough money from his jobs to afford three semester’s worth, so far. Then, perhaps, he could get a head start on readings. Then, if he was hungry, he’d head to one of the dining halls for dinner. If his roommate had gotten here by that time, maybe he’d ask him to come along. Maybe not.

Adam took a deep breath. His mind felt slightly clearer.

He opened his bag – a faux leather satchel that Gansey had gotten him for his birthday – to pull his wallet out. His hand hit upon something wooden.

Somehow, he knew what it was before he pulled it out.

There was a small note sticking out of it. Adam pulled it out without opening the lid. It was written in Ronan’s handwriting.

_Haec tuum est._

Terrible longing threatened to overwhelm him again.

Instead of letting that happen, he opened the box.

The music was just like he’d remembered that day at the Barnes, except _more._ Adam closed his eyes and laid back again, just like he had that day beside Ronan in the hay and the dirt.  He could see Ronan in that moment, the little shit-eating smirk on his lips. He could feel Ronan’s soft hair, so short at the time, beneath his fingers. He could smell the chicken shit and that earthy, agricultural scent around him. He could see the starry night sky and the sunrise from the tallest shed and he could taste coffee on his lips and feel skid marks beneath his feet and a tattoo beneath his fingers and electricity and peace everywhere. This music was _Ronan._

Adam felt still.

He opened his eyes, and he was in his dorm room again. Seeds and water and roots twisted within him.

He was in _college._

The door opened and he looked up to find an unfamiliar boy with bright eyes and brown skin looking around. His eyes fell on Adam and he smiled.

“ _Sick_ music, man,” he said. “I was hoping that was coming from my room when I was walking down the hall. Adam, right?”

Adam wasn’t unknowable, but here no one knew him -

Adam held out his hand. “Yeah, I’m Adam.” 

_\- yet._

 

_*_

 

The sun was setting as they stopped at a gas station on the way home. Adam didn’t need to get out of the car as Ronan filled the tank, but he wanted to. The air was quieter here, the colors of the sky fiercer without the dark tint of the windshield.

Adam breathed it in. Then he went in the service station and bought two sodas.

As Adam headed back to the car, he looked at Ronan. He was a dark shadow in the setting sun. They hadn’t seen each other in five weeks, and Adam just wanted to look and look. He wanted to drink him in, every rough edge and tender smile. He’d never be full, and knowing that was a glorious feeling. It settled him after so many weeks apart.

Ronan leaned against the driver’s side of his black BMW, watching him back, looking formidable in his black leather jacket, black bird on his shoulder, black jeans ripped at the knees, black cargo boots and dark, wild curls slicked back by the cool breeze.

Adam’s roommate, Jonah, hadn’t believed he was Adam’s boyfriend the first time Ronan had visited and Adam had pointed him out from a distance. “That guy? _That_ guy? The guy dressed in a shit ton of black? The guy that looks like he will crush you and then murder you? Is that a _bird_ on his shoulder? Adam, I thought you said he was a farmer, what the fuck?”

Once they’d officially met, Ronan and Chainsaw had glared at Jonah for a total of thirty seconds before Jonah broke and said, “I’m going to shit my pants.” Ronan declared, later, once he and Adam were alone because Jonah was too terrified to come back to their room that night, that no one had ever made a better first impression on him. Adam had smiled into his shoulder.

The sunset cast reds and yellows on Ronan’s face as the clouds shifted. He was the brightest shadow Adam had ever seen.

Adam wanted to kiss him. He always wanted to kiss him. He wanted to bury his hands in his glorious hair and feel the soft leather of his jacket between them. He wanted to hear Ronan gasp his name.

“Let me drive,” he said, handing Ronan a soda. Ronan took it and appraised him.

“I don’t know, Parrish,” he said. “You passed out for two hours on the way here, and those dark circles beneath your eyes aren’t doing you any favors. I thought Cheng was supposed to send RoboBee after you if you worked too hard.”

“Ronan,” Adam said, because he didn’t feel like arguing. “It’s just how college is.”

Ronan leaned forward, and Adam thought he was going to reach for his face for a closer look, but instead he simply ran a very gentle finger along the delicate skin beneath Adam’s left eye.

“' _It’s just how college is,_ ’” Ronan mimicked. He nudged him in the shoulder. “You’re an ol’ college pro now, is that how it is? Fine, but you’re sleeping a straight ten hours tonight, maybe even eleven or twelve.”

Adam’s previous thoughts of kissing Ronan into delirium clouded as he realized that ten or eleven or twelve hours of sleep proved an even wilder, more enticing fantasy. In the morning, then, Adam would have his way with him.

“Yeah, okay,” he said.  

Ronan smirked and dropped his keys into Adam’s palm, warm fingers against cold. Ronan was always warm. Yes, Adam would definitely have his way with him in the morning.

They slid back into the car, Chainsaw settling somewhere in the backseat amidst Adam's things. The steering wheel and gear shift felt blissfully familiar beneath Adam’s hands. He hadn’t even realized how much he’d missed it. The old ache wound its way back around his ribs.

“Adam,” Ronan said into the quiet; Adam hadn’t twisted the key yet. Adam looked at him. Ronan’s eyes were not on his face, but he took Adam’s hand from where it rested on the gear shift. Ronan touched each of his fingers as if they might be made of something terribly delicate.

To Adam’s horror, he realized a lump was growing in his throat.

He moved his hand to cup Ronan’s cheek. He finally looked up at Adam through his long lashes, eyes clear and sweet, like he would give Adam anything he asked for. The roots around his ribcage tightened.

Adam leaned over the gearshift and pulled Ronan towards him, and he came easily. He pressed their foreheads together. It was awkward positioning in the car, but Adam needed it, and he could tell Ronan did, too.

His hand was pressed to the back of Ronan’s head, soft in his hair, and when he kissed Ronan, the ache in his chest bloomed into something lovely and bright. Flowers of every color burst along his lungs.

“I missed you,” Adam said quietly when they broke apart, rubbing a thumb against the back of Ronan’s neck.

“Yeah,” said Ronan. “Me too.”

His lips were wet and pink from their kiss, and his dark curls framed his face in a way that made him look soft and young and beautiful.

Adam kissed him again. Ronan was always beautiful.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Haec tuum est/Hoc tuum est = This is yours
> 
> You can find me at [hugoweasley](http://hugoweasley.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


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